


Between Us Anyway

by KBZ



Category: Eyeshield 21
Genre: 20 Minutes Into The Future, Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Cyberpunk, Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Doctor/Patient, Gen, M/M, Mild Gore, Non-Graphic Violence, Pining, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-09
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-02-23 12:53:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23078473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KBZ/pseuds/KBZ
Summary: Seijuro Shin is a grease monkey working in the outer sprawl when he comes across a boy bleeding out on the pavement.
Relationships: Kobayakawa Sena & Shin Seijuurou, Kobayakawa Sena & Wakana Koharu, Kobayakawa Sena/Shin Seijuurou
Comments: 12
Kudos: 10





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seijuro spends equal time balancing the clinic’s credit and thinking about Sena Kobayakawa upstairs, seemingly alone among the millions of inhabitants of the city.

Seijuro gathers up all the scrap parts that he has no use for and walks out into the storming evening. He highly doubts that the rig will make it out this night, as the torrential rain eases the process of taking over the truck for the trash heading to be melted and recycled as well as the metal on the rig itself.

The rain is almost deafening when Seijuro steps outside. It cuts at his face and exposed arms like frigid knives. He’s already drenched by the time he’s at the curb. There’s flickering neon signs advertising red light manors among holo ads for the next mayoral election, illicit powerlines strung up between the hodgepodge of crowded and unapproved living spaces, and the ever present light pollution from the Metro proper. He carries the scraps of metal to the trash receptacle when he notices that the water running through the streets has thin streaks of red. It could be rust or something else easily ignorable, but Seijuro is a good man deep down and he follows after the trail hurriedly. He gets to the source, and like he suspected, it’s a person. If it weren’t for all his training, he might have frozen up.

The sight of a person with bloody stumps where there should be arms might do that to many.

But Seijuro has years of organic work under his belt on top of mecha experience. He leaps into action, grabbing the broken human into his arms and heading back inside to his garage office.

“Koharu!” Seijuro calls out as he runs inside, dripping wet. He places the boy on a medical gurney, wincing at the rickety structure.

“What’s wrong? I was sleeping.” Koharu says, rounding the corner. Her eyes widen at the sight, but she regains her composure quickly. “What do I need to do?”

“Hook him up, and start sterilizing my mechs.” Seijuro has already applied tourniquets to staunch the blood loss. They’re barely a step above cheap rubber bands, but they’re all he has. Looking at the boy’s pale face, he wishes that he had better equipment. He sprints back outside for—the boy’s arms. It says a lot about him that he only hesitates slightly before picking them up. Their weight in his hands feels wrong, unnatural.

He knows that the boy will never be completely flesh after this. There’s too much damage. If the boy had been found in the upper city by someone else, with tech advancements being what they are, it might not have been the case.

But instead he’d been found in the slums of the sprawl by a grease monkey barely making ends meet.

. . .

Seijuro finds a wallet in the boy’s pocket. The ID drive is a sleek, subtle model designed for privacy. Whoever this kid is, his parents want him safe. (What’s he doing here then? How did he get in this situation?) Seijuro plugs the drive into his ID scanner, and the boy’s smiling picture pops up on the holoscreen. Sena Kobayakawa, aged nineteen. Address in the Metro.

Seijuro goes into the ether. There is little else information about the boy which is suspicious. The government is overly involved in tracking every little thing a person has done, but either Sena Kobayakawa has never done _anything_ or his history has been purposely kept discreet. There’s no online activity about him, no public records, no social media presence. Searching up the address brings up a privacy restriction and doesn’t link a contact number.

Seijuro turns around to where Koharu has taken station on a chair next to Sena’s bed. Seijuro can tell that she’s already gotten attached in the short hours following the surgery.

“His name is Sena,” Seijuro says. The flickering photograph of Sena looks so much more alive than the boy knocked out on the gurney. The fluorescent lights drain what little color Sena has managed to regain. His shoulders are heavily bandaged where the mecha and muscles are starting to integrate.

Koharu dabs a wet cloth over Sena’s sweaty forehead. Her eyes trace along the boy’s slim face. He can read her like a book; Koharu was never subtle. Seijuro takes a sip of water. Well, he can see the physical appeal at least.

“He should be waking up by tomorrow, and then he’ll leave,” Seijuro says as a reminder.

“No, yeah, I know… But maybe he’ll stay. Maybe he’ll like it here.”

Koharu is fifteen. Seijuro has been taking care of his younger sister for a long time now, and at thirty-one, he still remembers what his teenaged years had been like. He hopes Koharu’s are better.

“Don’t get too attached.” Seijuro takes a bite of his ration’s bar, staring at the worried dip in Sena’s eyebrows even under anesthesia.

“I’m not!” Koharu says, but she fluffs Sena’s pillow anyway.

. . .

He tasks Koharu with finding more information on Sena.

“At least an emergency contact. Anything.”

Koharu pouts until Seijuro relents and lets her drag Sena’s gurney (and IV drip, and life support machines, and every other electrical) to where the computer is plugged in. Her eyes gloss over as she dives into the ether. Seijuro, meanwhile, power-hoses down the aftermess in the surgery room. Sena lost a third of his blood volume. He suffered severe nerve damage. His arms were… unusable. Seijuro hesitates destroying them and instead brushes embalming gel over the damage and puts them in his medical freezer. He’ll take it out with the biohazard waste, he tells himself to abide his guilt.

Since it’s only him and Koharu that live here, he doesn’t bother taping a warning about bodily remains on the freezer’s door.

“I don’t know who he is,” Koharu says an hour later, her eyes returning to normal as she unplugs. “He must be… I don’t know, a secret! Like an illegitimate son or something. Or maybe a real son, just kept secret to prevent… um… you know…”

They both glance down to Sena, bandaged and broken under sterile white sheets. His heart rate is steady despite his softly fluttering lashes and the crease between his eyebrows.

“I guess it didn’t work,” Koharu says. She re-tucks the blankets as she looks over him.

. . .

It’s close to 5 am. Koharu is upstairs, recharging after a long day. Seijuro is keeping track of the expenses and going over the accounts on the computer when the kid wakes up. His voice is a feeble, cracked mess, barely above a hoarse whisper. He speaks too softly for Seijuro to discern. Seijuro closes the distance between them quickly, going over Sena’s vitals.

“How are you feeling? Do you know where you are?” Seijuro asks, clipboard and pen at the ready to record the results.

“Um,” Sena gasps, pained, his dark lashes fluttering. He squints against the harsh white sodium lights, and Seijuro makes a small note to dim them. Sena lets out another pitiful gasp, his eyes watering, “Please, water…”

“Unfortunately, I can’t give you liquids, so these will have to do,” Seijuro shakes a foam cup filled with ice chips. He spoons some close to Sena’s pliant mouth. He parts his lips, relief showing at his thirst being at least slightly satiated. “Any unmanageable pain? Can you tell me your name?”

Sena frowns, lashes fluttering once more. He’s sweating at the effort to even exist in his state, and Seijuro makes another note to up the pain medication after Sena finishes this dosage.

“Sena,” he finally answers, voice weak, but the mental cognition is coming back which eases Seijuro’s concerns slightly. The crease between Sena’s eyebrows becomes more severe. “Hurts…”

“My apologies,” Seijuro says, a stab of guilt at his side. “You should be feeling less pained soon. I don’t know how much you remember from last night, but you suffered a… very severe incident. Do you remember what happened?”

“Mm…” Sena’s lashes flutter again, his lower lip trembling, and Seijuro is concerned he may have asked too much too soon, but Sena’s vitals remain steady, except for a slight elevation in heart rate.

“Please pardon my insensitivity and continue to rest. We can talk when you next wake up.”

“G’night,” Sena mumbles, lulling into fitful sleep.

“Goodnight,” Seijuro says, looking thoughtfully down at Sena, at his complexity in state.

. . .

“He’s _awake_!” Koharu hisses excitedly at Seijuro sometime later with a large grin on her face. Seijuro fell asleep at his desk.

“Are you trying to impress someone?” Seijuro asks, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“What- what made you think that?” Koharu smooths down her dress. It’s summery and bright, one of her favorites, though not at all appropriate for the near freezing conditions outside. Not like she was ever bothered by the cold. “I just wanted to wear this today. Is it a crime to look nice every once in a while? You should really try it, maybe we’d get more money that way or something!”

There is more to unpack in that sentence than maybe Koharu meant to say, though it could be that Seijuro is thinking too hard into it.

“How long has he been up?”

“Three minutes as of now. I just wanted to let you know since you’re technically in charge here. But, you know… I don’t mind taking care of him, so you can have a break.”

“That’s very kind,” Seijuro says. He leads them over to Sena.

The blanket is still tucked under Sena’s chin, and he’s staring at the ceiling. His blinks are slow as if he’s trying to process what’s happening.

“Good morning!” Koharu beams. “I’m back, just like I said. I had to get my brother. He’s the doctor, but I’ll be your main caretaker.”

Sena clears his throat. His eyes are still blurry, which is to be expected. He hasn’t tried to sit up. “W-What happened?”

“You suffered a very serious accident recently.”

“Feels like it,” Sena says, wincing. He looks back up at the cracked ceiling. “…lights’re different.”

“They were bothering you.”

“This place,” Sena’s speech is heavily slurred, “isn’t in the Metro is it?”

“We’re in the sprawl,” Koharu says. “Are you feeling okay? Are you hungry? Thirsty? Do you want anything?”

“A little thirsty… kinda dizzy,” Sena closes his eye again. “N… nauseous.”

“Koharu, can you get him some ice?” Seijuro pulls up a chair at the foot of Sena’s bed and goes over his clipboard. Koharu leaves them reluctantly. She narrows her eyes at Seijuro.

‘Watch it,’ she mouths at him from where Sena can’t see. Seijuro waves her off, refusing to entertain her childish territoriality.

“You said… something… an accident?” Sena asks again.

“I don’t know how much you can feel right now, but it was – serious. What do you recall?”

“Ummm… felt different when I woke up… arms felt weird,” Sena’s words stick together, the fatigue, pain, and medication affecting him. “Every other part of m’brain felt fuzzy…”

“We tried doing everything we could –”

“I-I’ve never even been outside the Metro… How bad is it…?”

“I apologize. Your condition was critical and our resources –”

“My dad knows all about resources, has all the connections – too many,” Sena’s lower lip is quivering. There’s a hysteric edge to his voice. His eyes are scrunched up tight, and he looks so young and vulnerable. Seijuro was never good at comforting patients during difficult situations. That’s what Koharu is for. “It’s my fault,” Sena whispers. “I should’ve listened… It’s my fault…”

“It’ll be okay, don’t blame yourself,” Seijuro says, holding the clipboard in vice grip. Seeing patients like this is the hardest part of his job. “We’ll call your parents and sort it out.”

“You don’t understand – my dad – he –” Sena wipes an errant tear off his cheek, and freezes abruptly at the feel of synth against his skin. Sena looks like he’s about to break. His heart monitor is starting to pick up the pace. The color has drained from his face.

“I’m so sorry,” Seijuro says, reaching out.

Sena recoils back. His face is disgusted, offended. Seijuro can’t understand why. The synths aren’t the best, but the look of revulsion marring Sena’s innocent face is jarring and out of place. It looks like hatred.

“I’m back Sena!” Koharu says. She’s holding a tray with a few different dishes and cups, smiling and ignoring the room’s atmosphere. The tray tinkers in her hands. “I thought we could try a few different snacks and see which ones you like best. Seijuro cooked them,” she admits resentfully, “but I put all my love in them so you can heal real quickly. ‘Love’ as in – um – you know, like, friends.”

“What – she’s,” Sena stutters, eyes wide, sharing a look with Seijuro. His pale face is drenched in sweat, and Seijuro wonders if it’s possible for a body to reject mecha by pure force of will alone.

“Koharu, administer sedatives,” Seijuro says, rushing to adjust Sena’s IV drip. Sena’s hyperventilation is shaking the bed. Seijuro steadies Sena with his hands on his shoulders. Sena’s crying and growing blotchy, not enough carbon dioxide in his blood stream already. “Breathe with me, Sena. Listen to my voice: breathe in. Hold. Exhale slowly…”

Koharu returns shortly, administering the sedatives with mechanical perfection. Sena takes in careful breaths, wide eyes scanning from Koharu to Seijuro the entire time until finally they glaze over with drug-induced calm.

They take Sena upstairs to Seijuro’s room. Koharu initially pouts, but it’s not like Seijuro spends a significant amount of time in his room to ‘force some kind of bond’ – as Koharu put it – anyway. Seijuro has a feeling in his stomach that Sena should be kept secret. He can’t explain it, but it has to do with the unnatural anonymity surrounding him and with the brutality of his injury. Something like that doesn’t happen accidentally, and definitely not to someone from the Metro.

Koharu has already prepped their operating room for the next emergency.

Seijuro takes a moment to breathe and eat before going back to the accounts. His desk has a clear view of the standalone freezer. He spends equal time balancing the clinic’s credit and thinking about Sena Kobayakawa upstairs, seemingly alone among the millions of inhabitants of the city.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The point is, he has much more important things to be thinking about than the no-history kid asleep upstairs.
> 
> And _yet_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last of what I have written for this fic so far, so there won't be updates for a while. I'm making my Enemies fic a priority, and I want to finish it by next April. And since EKC and Between Us Anyway both deal with more serious subject matter (like, I lay it on pretty thick here oop ^^;), I'll probably be taking breaks to write fluffy one-shots (and breaks from writing in general) before returning to this work. I think. Sometimes the muse just strikes.
> 
> That being said, I will not abandon this piece! I'm actually pretty happy with how it's turning out. But when I do come back to it, whoo boy, be ready for angst, dubious morality, and Shin's guilt complex~!
> 
> (No, I don't know why I enjoy making these two suffer. They don't deserve it...)

Their clinic is open twenty-four hours, and although they have some slow breaks, there are always, _always_ patients to treat. It’s been less than seven hours since they patched Sena up (or tried to, with their resources), and the waiting room is filled with tired, disinclined patients.

Seijuro only moved into the community a few years ago. His move was met with unfiltered hostility. A freshly minted doctor, hailing from outside the sprawl, taking pity on their poor little community and deciding to save them from their own filth. He was highly educated, he came from the Metro, and his greatest sin: he was all organic. Over ninety percent of sprawl residents had some sort of cybernetic enhancement – a sign of weakness in their era where organic meant privileged.

Seijuro didn’t blame the locals for viewing him like this. Numerous rich philanthropists before him had started projects to help people living in parts of the sprawl only to pack up once overwhelmed, often leaving the communities in a confused and worse state than before. In the first year alone, Seijuro had replaced the window panes seven times before finally investing in shatter resistant glass. Their clinic had been looted and trashed twice, among several smaller robberies. Seijuro received death threats. Locals had refused his help until finally, one day, a mother had brought in her sick child, and then the rest of the community had flowed in reluctantly, like fish swimming upstream.

Today has been mostly small stuff, no operations so far– colds, flus, other viral infections, the odd mecha needing to be refitted – but the numbers are never ending. He’s known as the local grease monkey, the local organic mechanic to the community. He’ll take that title over “rich bastard” any day. Koharu is known as an “angel” and beloved by all. Which is a good thing, otherwise the wait-time to see Seijuro would have gotten him killed. He usually has some of the local kids able to volunteer as wait-room attendants to help patients fill out their forms and (try to) make payment plans so that the time burden can be lessened, but there’s still too much to do, too much upkeep.

His examination room needs to be constantly cleaned, sterilized, and prepped for the next patient, bodily fluid tests need to be collected and run and disposed of, screening instruments maintained, waste and sharps need to be looked after (particularly the needles… the sprawl is especially underserved: low income, high risk, high user population. The police doesn’t even pick up calls this far out…) Not to mention the actual sanitation that has to happen during operations.

And all that on top of trying to keep the medicines and supplies stocked, the bathrooms cleaned, and the patients actually looked after. Koharu is like a machine, working with the efficiency acquired over years of helping as she hops from patient to patient. She’s able to screen patients in under twelve minutes per, but that’s when using their only body scanner which needs to be recharged every two hours. She’s not actually a certified health care professional, but she’s too valuable a pair of hands for Seijuro to ask her to stop or for people to ask too many questions.

Seijuro himself eats when he can, sleeps when there’s a lull. He’d be more efficient if he could get more than four hours of sleep a day and eat anything other than the over-processed ration bars. Going down that lane of thinking: he’d be more efficient if he had doctors and nurses and all the resources a regular clinic had, too, but that’s yet another thing added to the list of things that worry Seijuro. This whole operation is held together by the most convoluted and tremulous web of payments planned out four years into the future – and that’s including the hazy payment plans his clients manage to form. He’s working on borrowed money, pulling favors from his landlord and utilities to keep the door open, operating in the red.

The point is, he has much more important things to be thinking about than the no-history kid asleep upstairs.

And _yet._

. . .

It’s a little after 11 am, when Koharu pops her head in the door. Seijuro is going over the x-rays of a boy’s prosthetic knee joint with his mother.

“Sorry to interrupt, but, uh, you-know-who is awake.” Koharu has no tact. Seijuro partially blames himself.

“Alright, I’m almost done here,” Seijuro says. “Can you take the next patient while I check up on them?” Koharu grumbles about being able to take care of ‘you-know-who’ herself, but darts back out the room to start prepping.

Seijuro returns his attention to the mother and son. “The prosthetic is blending in quite well. You said he has full mobility, correct?”

“Yeah, yes, he’s been playing with his friends like before. He says it hurts a little when it rains.”

“Is that so?” Seijuro asks the boy. He jots down a few notes.

“Uh-huh, it feels like a stomach ache but in my knee. Like real cold.”

“I see. That’ll tend to happen with metallic joints. If we ever get some greasing coating I’ll let you know. It alleviates the ache, but you’ll have to go into the Metro to get the procedure done.”

“I-I don’t know about that,” the mother says. Her son is swinging his feet from the edge of the padded chair. “It’s been a bit – tight lately. I think he’ll be fine for a little longer.”

“We can talk about it at the next appointment,” Seijuro says. The mother nods, and she offers up a shaky smile before exiting.

Seijuro feels helpless. The knee ache will only get worse until it develops into full-on joint pain at the tender age of eight. But there’s not much Seijuro can do. His contacts in the biomedical engineering field are only so charitable, and he’d have to charge the patient in order to even acquire the special coating. Factoring in the mother having to take time off of work, plus travel, and the actual procedure, he doubts the son will ever receive the proper treatment. He’ll probably be wearing the same prosthetic until it’d be unbearable not to size up.

He tries not to let his frustration show as he heads upstairs. Technically, Seijuro and Koharu live in the joint apartment above the clinic, but they spend more time downstairs than anywhere else. Seijuro even considered remodeling the upstairs to another ward, but he didn’t have the funds for the expansion, much less the personnel to manage a new addition if he’d had the money to remodel in the first place.

“H-Hi. Good morning,” Sena’s voice snaps Seijuro out of his thoughts. Sena is sitting up, leaning against the thick pillows Koharu got for him. Sena has a throw blanket wrapped around his shoulders. The outdated television is tuned to a local news channel covering the upcoming election, volume set to low.

“Good morning. Still feeling nauseous?”

“Just drowsy.” Sena’s voice sounds stronger, if a little sheepish. The blinds have been drawn open, but the overcast sky prevents much sunlight from filtering through. Even so, Sena looks a little more flushed than before, having gained some color. “Hungry too.”

“We don’t have much in the way of a cafeteria,” the kitchen had long ago been turned into lab space for running samples. Seijuro cooked on a single hot plate in the corner of his room when he got the chance. “I’ll have Koharu bring something up in a bit.”

“Is this a different room?” Sena asks abruptly.

“It’s mine. Downstairs can get noisy which will stymie your recovery.”

“Y-your room,” Sena says softly and looks around, taking the surroundings in. “It doesn’t look lived in.”

“We use it for storage. The clinic keeps me busy.” Seijuro’s getting side-tracked. He reads over Sena’s vitals. Nothing of concern, just a slightly elevated heart rate, but that’s probably from waking up in strange surroundings. “May I ask what you last remember?”

Sena’s heart is starting to speed up. “I was going to go out with some friends to a club,” Sena looks up shyly, expecting Seijuro to rebuff him. Seijuro keeps his face neutral. From Sena’s tone, it sounds like he went to somewhere outside the safe confines of the Metro and into the middleton, maybe even into the sprawl. It would explain why someone as highbred as Sena was doing out so far from home.

“Did your parents know?”

“Not exactly… I told them I was staying at someone’s house. I usually – I _never_ – my parents always say it’s not –” Sena closes his eyes, frustrated. “I don’t know why I went, but I got separated from the group. I don’t remember anything after that. I j-just woke up here. Should I be… talking to an officer?”

“Yes,” Seijuro says. “But none of them will come out here. It’s too dangerous.”

Sena’s watery gaze swims. “The say the outer sprawl is filled with free mecha. That’s why it’s dangerous.”

“Is that what you believe?” Seijuro tries to keep his voice controlled.

“Isn’t it true?” Sena looks at him genuinely curious.

The sprawl is more integrated than the inner part of the Metro is, that so much is true – humans, androids, and cyborgs all living together in the outer perimeter of the Metro. That’s a function more of being in the same class – the unwanted, the poor, the reviled – than anything else, Seijuro thinks. The Metro has maintained its clear line of segregation between humans and mecha. Only the ‘well-behaved’ mecha live in the Metro; servants and workers at the beck-and-call of the elite and wealthy.

Koharu chooses that moment to walk in, “Hi guys! Um, I was just passing by, and wow, I did not know you were awake, S-Sena,” her lying is awful as she steps closer and closer to Sena.

Sena shrinks back into himself, squeezes the blanket tighter around him, and doesn’t say anything.

“Koharu, the patients, please,” Seijuro says.

“Alright, alright,” she pouts, and pops back downstairs, throwing one last look behind her shoulder at Sena.

Sena, for his part, lets out a held-in breath. He’s still tense, his shoulders high and jaw tight, second-hand disgust Metropolitans seem to harbor in handfuls.

“Do you remember your parents contact information?” Seijuro asks. “Anyone we can talk with about your situation?”

“Um, no… I can’t remember right now.” Seijuro knows Sena is lying. The boy keeps averting his eyes, like he was taken off-guard by Seijuro’s topic. “Are you worried about me paying?”

“My first responsibility is your health.”

Sena winces at Seijuro’s curt words, “I have money.”

“I’ll send Koharu up with some food in a bit.”

“Wait – no, ah,” Sena stammers, reaching out for Seijuro’s retreating figure. The blanket slips off, and there is his arm – bulky, mechanical, and decidedly ugly and out of place compared to Sena’s small figure. Sena flinches back, as if he could escape his new reality if he caught it off guard. His arms are trembling, still adjusting. Beneath the teal hospital gown, Seijuro can make out the edges of bruises that no doubt splotch along Sena’s shoulders and chest. “Can you… Can you bring it up? Please?”

“I don’t have the time to look after you personally. I have a clinic to run. Your parents will be able to get you private treatment with whoever you want taking care of you.” Immediately, Seijuro regrets his words. Every patients deserves the best care possible. He hates not being able to provide it. Yet there’s something about Sena that makes Seijuro feel like he’s playing favorites if he’s too soft. “If you wish, you may leave now as you are a legal adult.”

The way Sena blinks slowly isn’t a side effect of the drugs.

“Your ID says you’re nineteen.” Seijuro says.

“It was my birthday,” Sena whispers, with dawning realization. “That’s why we went out. I’m eighteen now.”

So the ID drive had been a fake. It chills Seijuro’s core that someone could do such a heinous crime to a child. A malicious pre-planned act, during one of the worst storms in recent memory to drown out any cries for help. Sena would have bled out if he hadn’t been found by chance.

“Is there anything else that’s coming to mind?” Seijuro is starting to suspect that the memory loss may be more serious than he previously thought. He had already ruled out minor head injuries and concussions, but it’s likely that Sena’s mind was just trying to protect itself from the trauma he had received.

“I don’t remember…” Sena’s eyes are wet again, his dark lashes sticking together as he tries to blink back tears. “I wish I could remember after I left. He said he would give me a ride home, and he looked familiar but then all I remember is it was dark after, and then I was out in the rain and it _hurt_ – my arms, they hurt so much. They hurt like ice.” Sena shivers, breathing heavily. “I can’t remember more right now, I’m sorry.”

Seijuro bites the inside of his lip. His purpose is to do no harm, and the kid is in obvious anguish. His parents probably unloaded their prejudices onto him, and it’s not the kid’s fault. But he’s old enough to know better, and he _should_ know better. But he’s been through serious mental and physical trauma (and who knows what else). Usually Koharu handles more of the counseling type work, but they can’t jump to that just yet, not with Sena’s current state of mind. Seijuro is just arguing with himself. He doesn’t want a reason to dislike Sena. He can’t help but feel protective of him right now.

“I’m sorry for pushing,” Seijuro says finally. Sena is still holding something back, and Seijuro wants to ask about who Sena is referring to, but now’s not the time. He wishes they had some sort of trauma expert or any brain imaging instruments, but none of that is even remotely within a conceivable budget. “I’ll bring up something to eat after I see my next patient. Keep drinking water and try to sleep.”

Sena nods, eyes grateful though teary as they track Seijuro’s exit.

There is something else in Sena’s eyes – a sort of sheepish hope Seijuro sees Koharu have when she looks at Sena – that makes Seijuro’s blood run frigid in his veins. It would be best to stamp that out sooner rather later.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A soft spot is forming despite Shin's efforts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter chapter, more of a one scene hit, but satisfied with it. I recently got a tumblr @ kbz-writes if you would like to interact! I'm infrequently active, but at least there's private messaging! Added the slow burn tag ;p

It’s not forty-five minutes until Seijuro can reason himself into taking a break to go see Sena. He finishes putting some samples into the centrifuge, takes off his gloves, and looks for the nicest ration’s bar they have stocked. They have a bit of stockpile at the moment, but they’ll all be gone soon once school checkup season begins for the winter term. The clinic hands them out to kids who look a little thin on checkup days.

Seijuro hates seeing their gaunt faces and threadbare clothes; the children barely grow from one year to next.

The ration’s bar is apple flavored with actual dehydrated fruit pieces in it. It’s the only bar that Seijuro would hazard to say tastes acceptable. He puts it on a metal tray and adds a pitcher of ice water too.

The room door is still open a crack. Seijuro peeks inside. Sena is sitting up still, frowning down at his arms, flexing the fingers. They twitch in response. He can move his arms, but his movements are awkward, unpracticed, and almost hesitant. Has Sena ever seen prosthetics like these before? Seijuro glances at the rations bar – cheap cellophane surrounding a brown, glutinous brick. Has Sena ever had to eat a ration?

Sena places both hands palm side up on his lap, doesn’t look away from them. His brows are drawn together, deep in thought.

Seijuro knocks on the door louder than he means, and Sena’s head whips towards him. He jumps slightly.

“Y-you’re back,” Sena says. He draws up the blanket around him again, hiding his arms, but he’s smiling, biting his lips, like he can’t help himself.

“This is all we have,” Seijuro says, gruff. He places the tray by the bedside table and makes a show of checking Sena’s vitals. Sena doesn’t move to take the ration.

“Um,” he starts. Sena shifts a bit. His synths are so outdated that Seijuro can still hear their whirring. “I don’t – I don’t think I can use the – _my_ , um, the…”

Seijuro catalogues this conversation away for later. He unwraps the bar and holds it out with studied neutrality.

Sena stares back up at him with deep, dark eyes. Those eyes could start fights. “I don’t think… I can’t…”

It would take a strong will to hold up against that look. Who are his parents, Seijuro wonders. Do they yield easily?

“I can’t play the part of a personal caretaker.” Seijuro doesn’t shift any closer. It wouldn’t be inappropriate to feed Sena, per se, but Seijuro’s not blind to the furtive glances the kid is sending him. He doesn’t want to stoke any torches Sena might be holding out. And besides, Seijuro still has patients to see, tests to run, a clinic to maintain.

“I’m s-sorry,” Sena whispers. He frowns again, concentrating hard on reaching out and taking the bar. His arm awkwardly jerks to get the ration, but his fingers aren’t dexterous enough to hold it. His eyes shine with humiliated tears. “I’m sorry.”

In the need to be professionally distant, Seijuro is being cruel. He doesn’t _intend_ to be cruel, but he reminds himself that Sena doesn’t know his intentions and that judging by Seijuro’s actions, the result is a cruel one.

Seijuro breathes slowly, keeping calm. He’s not angry at the kid. Seijuro is just – overtired, exhausted, drained – so he convinces himself that this doesn’t mean anything. He wraps the blanket back around Sena’s shoulders, picks up the bar, and holds it out in front of Sena’s lips.

Sena takes a tentative bite. He seems to make the mistake of meeting Seijuro’s eye as he does so, and drops his gaze quickly. His cheeks turn pink.

“What is this?” Sena asks after swallowing. The kid should have asked that before eating it so trustingly. Seijuro suspects a pattern.

“It is a ration bar.”

“It tastes…” Sena wrinkles his nose.

Seijuro has already been with Sena for twenty minutes. It feels like no time at all. It’s probably because he doesn’t understand where Sena comes from. He’s emotionally invested. He places the ration back on the tray and heads to his rarely used closet.

“Did I say something?” he hears Sena ask behind him.

Seijuro hasn’t worn anything but scrubs and thick-soled shoes in years, but he’s kept everything from before his life was dedicated to running the clinic. He turns back to Sena, holding an old college sweatshirt.

“I sense your unease with your current prosthetics,” Seijuro says, trying his best to sound reassuring. “This is normal. They are a part of you, at least for now. However, it is a process getting used to prosthetics. Please lift your arms.”

Sena swallows nervously, hesitant again, but does so. A frowns pulls on his lips as he concentrates. His arms struggle up stiffly. The blanket falls, revealing the crude mecha prosthetics that Sena refuses to acknowledge. Seijuro tugs the sweatshirt on for Sena, gently. It’s baggy. The prosthetics’ bulk can barely be seen; only Sena’s hands are visible.

Still, Sena drags his arms back against the bed so the sleeves cover everything, even his mechanical fingertips.

“I’m going to leave you a few things,” Seijuro says. “We do not have a physical therapist here, but I am familiar with rehabilitation after injuries like yours. There is no need to push yourself too hard. See if you can remember any more details about your accident.” Seijuro places a basket of block puzzles of varying degrees of difficulty. It’s a half-truth; the activities will also help Seijuro gauge Sena’s cognitive abilities so they can work through his memory loss.

“Thank you, Dr. Shin,” Sena says, soft-voiced.

Seijuro takes the ration and places it in Sena’s hand. Sena’s fingers twitch closed around Seijuro’s palm, the grip loose. Seijuro extracts his hand, the metal burning cold against his skin.

“We’ll check up on you later,” Seijuro says. He’s impressed by how long Sena’s been awake, how lucid he is. He's tougher than he looks. Seijuro deigns it appropriate to relay this to Sena, who's morale is looking low. “Your recovery has gone remarkably well so far.”

Sena’s face, though tired and wary, brightens, like the sun appearing through hazy smog. Seijuro feels Sena's heat on his face and hands, and even on his back in the form of a lingering gaze, as he walks back downstairs.


End file.
